Imagination Is the Deadliest Thing
"I pat--"
A hundred or so cameras were automatically taking pictures around Su Qingci. Her ice-blue eyes were incredibly bright, and the corners of her mouth were stretched almost to her ears.
He had thought about it carefully beforehand, deciding to put his previous aloof image aside.
The host is clearly more used to seeing him this way.
So, don't be fooled by his current look—black hair, blue eyes, and seemingly respectable appearance—he's still the same System.
Before him stood thousands of Evil Gods kneeling in fanaticism, his own host standing with a sword in hand, against a backdrop of a planet split in two and a sky Sapphire Blue sword light.
What's this called? This is called epic-level material!
He would be doing a disservice to the hundred or so cameras he bought if he didn't capture this.
Su Qingci picked up a camera, flipped through it, and admired his spoils with satisfaction.
Suddenly, he remembered something extremely trivial.
The previous host in the Asura version seemed to have warned him about something, something about not writing, posting, or taking pictures indiscriminately?
Su Qingci her head and earnestly recalled 0.1 seconds.
Then I decisively threw that thought into the recycle bin and even emptied it.
Huh? What warning?
How come he doesn't remember doing that?
All he knew was that he would start a new story as soon as he got home tonight, and he already had a title in mind.
"Regarding the matter of my host splitting a star with a single sword strike, causing thousands of Evil Gods to kneel and submit."
However, after writing so many pairing stories, he found that his favorite was still writing about himself and his host.
Hey-hey.
Su Qingci took out a small, bound booklet. He had just printed it out and bound it on the spot.
More System Energy is good.
For example, the various pieces of furniture he recently installed.
The room had a plush Sofa and a large bed, a TV, a refrigerator, and everything else you could need.
As for that Coffin, it looked really unlucky, so Su Qingci tossed it into a dark corner to the side.
Now
Su Qingci sat on the soft Sofa, holding her newly written 100,000-word notebook in her hands, with a steaming cup of black tea on the small coffee table next to her.
The aroma of tea wafted through the air, the Sofa was soft, and a large, high-definition television in the distance was silently playing a gossip channel from some system. The refrigerator was also crammed with energy drinks of various flavors.
This life couldn't be more perfect.
Su Qingci turned to the title page of this book, where the title was prominently displayed.
"Regarding the incident where my host was in a life-or-death situation, I descended from the sky on auspicious clouds to save her, and she then offered herself to me in gratitude."
The title is a bit long, but that's okay; the content is even more exciting.
The story begins by describing how the host is besieged by eight hundred Evil Gods, facing a hopeless situation with no chance of survival, his white hair stained with blood, and his red eyes frosted with white.
Just as he was about to collapse from exhaustion, at this critical moment...
He, Su Qingci, dressed in a silver-white short robe, descended from the sky riding on auspicious seven-colored clouds. With a single palm strike, he sent eight hundred Evil Gods flying, and pulled the blood-soaked host into his arms. Then, the host raised her scarlet eyes, grasped his collar, and said in a hoarse yet weak voice:
"Thank you for saving me, I want to repay you with my body."
Thinking of this, Su Qingci held the notebook and chuckled foolishly, her icy blue eyes narrowing into slits.
He turned one page after another, completely immersed in his literary world, oblivious to the chill in the air.
A pair of hands reached out from beside Su Qingci and snatched the notebook from his hand.
Su Qingci completely.
He turned his head and watched as his host walked around the Sofa, sat down casually next to him, crossed his long legs, and flipped open the little notebook that had just been snatched away with his slender fingers.
Those scarlet eyes fell on the title page, scanning it word by word from left to right, word by word, over the long title that was dozens of characters long.
The air froze for about 0.3 seconds.
The next second, Su Qingci sprang up from the Sofa, and in a perfect sliding kneeling position, she spread her arms and hugged Wuma Xiu's thighs, burying her black-haired head in his knees.
"Host, I'm sorry! Please don't kill me!"
He hugged his legs and cried with genuine emotion.
Of course, it's all an act.
But his will to survive was genuine.
Wuma Xiu turned the pages one by one, and in no time, he had reached the last page of 100,000 words.
He closed the notebook, casually placed it on the small coffee table beside him, then picked up the still steaming cup of black tea and took a sip.
The aroma of tea spread between his lips and teeth. Wuma Xiu paused for a moment, seemingly quite satisfied with the taste of the tea.
"Master, you're really living the good life these days."
"Nothing compares to how well you're doing, Host."
Su Qingci was still holding onto Wuma Xiu's legs with both hands, a fawning smile on her face, and her words were sickeningly sweet.
"What's mine is yours, and what's yours is still yours. This tea is yours, the Sofa is yours, even I am yours. I'm just enjoying it for you first, hehe."
As he spoke, he put one hand behind his back and quickly made a hand gesture in the air.
Behind Su Qingci, the hundred or so high-definition cameras that had been hovering retracted.
These are all materials he just secretly photographed. If the host finds out, his little notebook will probably turn from "sweet CP novels" into "the system's 100 ways to die".
"Get up. I only came to congratulate you."
Wuma Xiu put the teacup back on the coffee table and looked down at the boy who was still hanging on his lap.
Su Qingci blinked, confirming that there was indeed no murderous intent in her host's eyes.
He was stunned for a moment, and then a warm current surged up from the depths of the core code, making his entire mass of data feel hot.
Could it be that the host is desperately fighting against the consciousness of the Asura God for his sake?
Hiss—The host must have exerted all his strength to suppress the Asura God's violent instincts in order to calmly put down the notebook and even say "congratulations."
Su Qingci was moved to tears, her icy blue eyes brimming with moisture. She hadn't expected her host to be so strong, actually unaffected by the Asura God.
He actually went to such lengths for him.
What else could this be but love?